


The Care and Keeping of Stanley Pines

by theblindtorpedo



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Dom Fids, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot, Pampering, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sub Stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblindtorpedo/pseuds/theblindtorpedo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sex was always fantastic, but Fiddleford knows the most important part is what comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Care and Keeping of Stanley Pines

Stan lay limp on the bed, sweat slickened body heaving in the aftershocks of orgasm. The spreader that held his wrists over his head no longer trembled from his straining. His toes, where they had clutched the bedsheets as Fiddleford thrusted inside him, were now slowly unclenching. In subtle increments Stan was relaxing. His breaths came heavy through his nose, the mouth that had so readily screamed to be fucked, yelled Fiddleford’s name, moaned in ecstacy, was now shut in a quivering line. His lips were probably quite sore and a well bruised red, Fiddleford noticed, but the engineer thought the shade suited him. He looked softer this way.

Stan had a femininity that often went unnoticed, overshadowed by his more masculine traits. It would be a barefaced lie to say Fiddleford did not appreciate Stan’s broad frame, deep voice, and inclinations for posturing and unnecessary swagger. In truth such traits were what had first attracted him to the younger Pines twin. But it was the vulnerability, the unexpected softness that Stanley Pines had underneath, that once revealed, convinced Fiddleford that he was in love with this man. And this vulnerability was no more evident than when they had sex, the exchange of trust and control was lovemaking in its own right despite the roughness of their lust filled romps. Stan wanted to do it all and he wanted to do it all with Fiddleford. It set the engineer’s heart fluttering like he was a teenager again. Fiddleford wished he could see Stan’s eyes behind the blindfold.

Still, he could not complain as he soaked in the rest of the view. So pliant despite his large size and the strong muscles Fiddleford knew were hidden underneath the rounder layer of pudge. So _cute_.

Fiddleford felt a wave of protectiveness sweep over him. He wanted to touch again, but now was not that time for that.

Instead he moved off the bed, motions small and controlled so as not to agitate his still sensitive lover by shaking the mattress. He pulled on the robe he’d left hanging on the bedpost, humming softly. The white noise kept Stan from becoming too aware of his own hard breathing, an anxiety that had soured their first time. It also kept Fiddleford from startling his lover when he finally spoke.

“Darlin’, may I untie you?”

He waited patiently. It was a full minute before Stan’s head jerked in a single nod. Permission given, the engineer extended his hand to tentatively tug at the edge of red fabric around Stan’s head.

“I’m going to reach around and take off the blindfold.” Fiddleford narrated as he worked, careful to avoid touching Stan’s skin. “Now I’m going to unlock your wrists . . .”

The gear was placed on the ground by the bed, soon joined by the used cockring, butt plugs, and the riding crop. He would properly clean and put everything away later, but now it was more important that the bed was cleared of everything from their play. Next, Fiddleford reached for the bedside table.

“I’m placing the bell next to your right hip,” he continued, “and the folded blanket is on your left.”

The bell was a small brass object; the soft medium sized blanket, forest green, bore a pattern of brown pinecones. They’d bought them together at the Dusk til Dawn. Fiddleford had been blushing the whole time, while Stan elbowed him lecherously. _You look like you’re gonna explode. Relax. S’not like anyone knows what we’re gonna do with it._ Stan was right, of course, but Fiddleford still thought it was mortifying that he was buying any items for sex in public. Even when he planned to have vanilla sex, buying condoms had always been a disaster on his nerves. Yet in the safety of his own home he had, without shame, filled out numerous mail order forms to purchase the other toys they wanted while Stan stared with wide-eyed amateur curiosity at the catalogues Fiddleford was well acquainted with. The poor Jerseyite had quite an education that day. At his request Fiddleford had given him a full box of magazines to take home. He had been surprised that Stan had never seen such content before, but his naiveté thankfully did not deter him from enthusiastically embracing Fiddleford’s perversions. The cockring had been Stan's idea.

Now He looked even more exposed without the accoutrements of sex. Stan had curled in on his side, eyes still closed, the blanket just tugged in a ball against his chest, hiding the red welts from view. Fiddleford sighed. This was his least favorite part.

“I am going to the kitchen,” he said, arms itching to reach out and cradle his lover. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

He turned the radio on low before he left.

 

The bell’s ringing came just in time, piercing past the sound of boiling water. It was a wonder it could reach his ears despite the distance, but they had gone through quite a few models before they had chosen the right one for its clarity of sound. Fiddleford steadily poured the boiling water into the cracked mug sitting on the otherwise prepared tray. The cow’s face stared at him with wide eyes as he mixed in the milk and chocolate. He tried not to run to bedroom, although his emotions begged him to move faster, as he carefully carried the full array of supplies.

Stan was sitting up now, the blanket pulled around his shoulders. He didn’t look up as Fiddleford entered. Instead, half lidded eyes fixated on the bell he still rolled between his fingers. Fiddleford placed the tray on the bed, picking up the mug and holding it out for Stan who took it gingerly.

“It’s a little hot, so watch out.”

Like a puppy, Stan stuck out a wide tongue, dipping to taste the liquid. Deeming the temperature bearable, he took a short swig.

“Tastes . . . good.”

His voice was hoarse, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile as he looked up to hand the mug back to Fiddleford. The engineer removed it to the bedside table, before climbing so he could sit cross-legged across from his lover. The two were face to face.

“May I touch you?”

In response Stan pulled his arms away from his chest, looking at Fiddleford expectantly. His cheeks were still delightfully flushed, chestnut hair hanging in his face made him look uncharacteristically shy. Fiddleford picked up the cream from the tray, squeezing a liberal amount onto his fingers before reaching to touch Stan for the first time since he had brought him to orgasm

Stan hissed at the contact of the cold medication on his raw skin. Fiddleford paused.

“K-keep goin’.”

Fiddleford inched forward on his knees, stopping as soon as he saw Stan lean back slightly to avoid full body contact. The hand still hovering over Stan’s chest then gave an experimental swipe. The muscles tensed under his touch. Stan whimpered, but nodded his head. Fiddleford tried to keep his touch light, but thorough as he rubbed the medicine into Stan’s skin.

“You know what these are, Stanley? Marks of how good you are. Such a good boy.”

"Y-yeah?" Stan whispered, voice tinged with desperation.

“The best. Look at you. So good. My champion.”

Stan cracked a tired grin, hint of teeth this time. And then he was leaning in, resting his forehead against Fiddleford’s, warm brown eyes gazing up from under long lashes. Fiddleford hazarded another harder press of his hands and while Stan’s body tensed minutely, his face showed no pain. Overall, Stan's body was settling, finding relief in Fiddleford's new type of attention. So different from the harsh swings of the crop and nails and teeth that he had been begging for not more than half an hour previously.

“You’re beautiful,” Fiddleford continued, adding more medicine to his hands, “And I am so very lucky to have you.”

The same words he always used. But he truly meant them and Stan hung onto his words like a man dying of thirst. Stan glowed under praise, looking at him with blatant need, and the more Fiddleford talked the more palpable Stan’s euphoria felt. With each compliment he gave off pleased little pants that clouded Fiddleford's brain in a hazy love-struck mush.

“Here, drink some more.”

The mug was handed back, Stan hugging it close to his chin. Thick fingers stroked the porcelain, more interested in the heat emanating from it than the chocolate.

“You need to drink, sugar,” Fiddleford said, trying to keep his voice low and tender. "I can't have you losin' your strength cause of me."

“What are you, my mother?”

So his spunk was returning. Good sign.

“Would your mother do this?” Fiddleford caught him in a kiss. Soft, but definitely not motherly. Stan melted against him as Fiddleford licked his upper lip, teasing his mouth open. He was gifted with a contented moan then, Stan’s tongue reaching out to meet his own.

They made out leisurely, Stan still clutching the drink in his hands. The background radio played a slightly garbled song about mornings and angels and darlings.

“I want to taste more chocolate next time,” he said, when they pulled away, pointing at the still full mug.

“Yes, sir,” Stan said, taking a showy slurp. They laughed in unison, the co-mingling sounds wrapping together intimately in the space between them.

“I’d very much like to hold you now.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

So he did. Propped up against the pillows he pulled Stan to his chest, the boxer’s bulk somehow fitting in the angle of his gangly legs. Stan’s breath tickled his chest. This was a different sort of submission than their sex, and Fiddleford knew that he craved both of them. He buried his face in Stan’s hair, breathing in the smell of cooling sweat.

Stan made his way through the entire mug of hot cocoa, the glass of water and two granola bars over the course of the next two hours. Fiddleford idly wished he’d brought fruit instead, as he felt the crumbs scattering over him and the bed, but he was too blissed out to feel remorse for his future laundry duties. Stan was still weak despite the nutrition. Fiddleford let one hand stroke his hair, the other at thick thigh, then the small of Stan’s back under the blanket, massaging with gentle movements. Stan occasionally moved his head, reaching to lightly kiss Fiddleford’s neck and chest, but for most of the time he just lay still and content.

Fiddleford knew that Stan had never had someone to protect him. From what he glimpsed of their childhood, it was always either Stan protecting Ford or Stan protecting himself. A life of constantly being on the defensive took an obvious psychological toll. So Fiddleford resolved to hold Stan tighter, to love harder. He didn’t think he had much to offer a relationship, but he was grateful he could give Stan this at least.

“You’re perfect. You’re wonderful. You’re safe. You-”

“’M not. But you’re nice,” came a drowsy mumble.

“I love you.”

“Okay.”

Another man might feel jilted by the short response, but Fiddleford did not mind. It was the way Stan snuggled close to him, the way Stan let him hold him, the way Stan fell open for him in every sense of the phrase, that said more than words.

He had no doubt that Stanley Pines loved him back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! For a while I've been wanting to do a fic focused on the ritual of aftercare, I hope this was enjoyable despite the lack of sexytimes. Also, i dont know if this is a typical kind of aftercare, as its drawn from personal experiences, but at least its realistic, haaaa.
> 
> Follow my shipping blog at:  
> www.fiddlestan.tumblr.com


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